


Why not?

by The_Silent_Writer



Series: Because [1]
Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: ASL, First Meetings, Flirts, How they met?, I don't want Numbers to die, It may or may not do that 'canon' thing, Language, M/M, Possible trigger warnings in the future, Sort of? - Freeform, past trauma, so it probably won't, so there, some violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 12:08:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1982430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Silent_Writer/pseuds/The_Silent_Writer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr. Numbers is forced to work with a new partner who he can't even communicate with properly. He pitches a hissy fit but relents in the end.</p><p>How they met in a sense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Spelling Game

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Numbers yelled to the boss-man sitting comfortably in a plush office chair. He knew his ranting would get him nowhere, but God did it feel good. “Tell me again why the hell this giant,” he made an expansive gesture with both arms flailing towards the tall, brown-haired man to his right, “and I are supposed to be partners!”

“You’re the only one in the Syndicate that knows sign language, mate.” A scrawny looking man to the left of the boss-man spoke up. He had the accent of a man from Down Under and all of the cockiness to go with it.

Numbers laughed. “All I know is the God-damned alphabet.” He was eerily calm now, all of the rage from before seemingly vanished from his visage. He rested his hands on his hips for a moment. “How’s that gonna play out in the middle of a job, hmm? I’m over here trying to get this tall ass’ attention so I can tell him—”  _Y-O-U-C-A-N-G-O-F-U-C-K-Y-O-U-R-S-E-L-F-Y-O-U-F-A-T-M-U-M-B-L-I-N-G-F-U-C-K! Y-O-U-A-N-D-Y-O-U-R-A-U-S-S-I-E-F-U-C-K-T-O-Y!_

He threw a glare when the deaf man hissed out a soft laugh, which immediately shut the guy up.

A small part of him felt bad for making such a fuss about this partnering thing. The guy didn’t seem too bad. But Numbers had been in this business for a long time. He had tried the partner thing at first, but after nearly a decade later he felt it was best to steer clear away from that particular road.

His face softened a bit, but there was still obvious annoyance laced in his features. He knew he had no real say in the matter. Taking both his hands, he rubbed them over his face as a long sigh escaped him. “Fucking fine,” he mumbled as he turned to leave. “Come on, Ledger.”

Numbers was through the office door and half way to the elevator when he realized there wasn’t a tacky fringed coat next to him. With the rest of the anger he had stored up, he threw a stapler from a nearby desk straight at the guy’s head. Thanks to gravity it hit his shoulder. Ignoring the kicked-dog look he got in return he screamed, “Come  _ON_ , Sasquatch!” and turned to leave again.

He wouldn’t admit to the satisfaction he felt when he heard heavy footsteps, plodding to catch up, from behind him.


	2. Talking Food

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even back then, Numbers was never a fan of being watched while he ate.

The silence through the meal wasn’t something Numbers was used to when eating with someone. There’s usually some sort of close-to-friendly banter, if not a remark or two about the crappy weather Fargo always seemed to have. He’s never had to sit in a diner booth and twiddle his thumbs because of an awkward silence.

It didn’t help that the guy was staring at him through the whole thing. Not even making faces, hell that would’ve been easier to handle. No siree, he was just staring.

Numbers had taken them to a small diner, only a song away from the Syndicate, to try and get himself acquainted with his new partner. It wasn’t until they sat down that he remembered that the deaf guy was actually and truly deaf.

It took a while (the length of time to eat all of his fries and take a bite from his burger) before he finally had enough. He set his main course down, wiped his hands on a napkin, and looked the guy straight in the eyes.

And thus the staring match commenced.

Neither the guy nor Numbers moved for quite a long time. Once the guy finally blinked, Numbers cupped his chin with his hands, letting his elbows rest on the table, and sweetly asked, “What the fuck is your problem?” The smile he gave could have been called child-like or amiable if it weren’t for the annoyance laced into it.

The guy guffawed at Numbers’ use of language towards him. He started with a flurry of hand motions that only helped him stand out more until he remembered that Numbers had no idea what he was saying. He stopped mid-sign and shot his hands down to his sides.

Numbers made no move to even try and reply. He just sat there, staring and with a look that showed just how pleased he was that his partner was starting to become just as annoyed as he was.

And thus began Staring Match Part II: The Sequel.

After a good five minutes, their food grown cold and long forgotten from their minds, Numbers broke the silence.

“What’s your name, Big Boy?”

The guy quirked an eyebrow at the nickname.  _W-R-E-N-C-H_ , he spelled out.

Numbers made an appreciative sound in his throat that is wasted on his partner. “That the name they gave you, Stretch?”

Wrench nodded.

“Is there a reason for that? Are you packing something heavy, tall dark and handsome?” Numbers asked, starting to play with a strand from his beard.

His partner looked away for a moment, obviously a bit shaken from all of Mr. Numbers’ stirring. When he looked back, there was a faint blush making its way across his cheeks.

There was a part of Numbers that his partner would learn of soon enough that was more than a bit sinister. He’d make it his job to find that one thing, that one secret that could bring someone down, and use it to his advantage or to keep him in control. And his methods for finding that one thing? Using flirtation, sarcasm and Asshole-ery was the easiest way to go about finding it.

Numbers smiled, sliding his tongue slowly across his bottom lip.  _N-U-M-B-E-R-S_ , he signed. “It’s not much a name, really, but after a while it grows on you.” He had sobered up by then, his face not serious, per say, more somber than anything else.

Mr. Wrench could see the distant, almost sad look in Numbers’ eyes. He opened his mouth and raised his hands as if to say something, but thought better of it. He shook his head and lowered his arms.

“Come on, Big Boy, what were you gonna say? Don’t be shy on my account.”

Wrench looked around the diner for a minute. Finding what he was looking for, he left the table and returned with a paper place mat and a set of crayons. He smirked at the curious look Numbers had given him.

 _How do you know the alphabet?_ He wrote in a faded blue colour.

His partner sat there for a moment, as if staring at the messy and jumbled hand writing would give him the answer he was looking for. He picked up a crayon, this one a dull shade of green, and tapped it lightly on the place mat, leaving small blemishes in its wake. His dark eyes looked up for a moment, meeting the inquisitive hazel ones that hadn’t seemed to stray from Numbers’ form the entire time.

“Give me a moment, Sideburns. It’s a long story, I’m tryin’ to give you the SparkNotes version.” And as if that was all it took to get him going, he put crayon to paper and started writing.

Wrench waited patiently. He was watching his partner more than he was paying attention to what was being written.

Once done, Numbers held up the place mat and read over his handy work (quick work didn’t mean it couldn’t be perfect work) before he passed it to Wrench.

_Before I was hired, I used to live a normal life. Wanted to get a Master’s, have a house, a family; the works. My motto was ‘you’ll never know where life will take you’. Damned if I wasn’t right. Anyways, because of that I was determined to learn enough of every “important” language so that if I was to ever get dumped there I could at least survive. ASL just happened to be one of the important ones. I figured if I knew the alphabet I could at least try to hold my own in a conversation._

_Surprised they didn’t call me Letters instead._

After he finished reading, Wrench took another of many good long looks at his partner. There was something in the way Numbers looked back that told him he was telling the truth. He gave a small smile then wrote _'#?'_ on account of there not being too much room left on the place mat. He hoped Numbers would get his drift.

It seemed he did, because after a moment of contemplation and finger tapping he replied with _'10 so far'._

Wrench’s whole face lit up at the number. He gestured his hands towards the paper in a sort of ‘go on’ motion.

 _English (duh), Spanish, French, German, Hebrew, Russian, Arabic, Japanese, Chinese, ASL_.

The wonder in Wrench’s eyes when he scanned the list was enough to fluster Numbers. He ignored the heat on his cheeks as his partner turned his gaze back to him. An eyebrow raised when the guy started signing again. He had no idea what had been said, but if those bed eyes were anything to go by Numbers probably would have consented.

_W-H-A-T-D-I-D-Y-O-U-S-A-Y?_

_L-E-A-R-N-A-S-L-A-N-D-F-I-N-D-O-U-T._

Numbers barked out a laugh at that and gestured that they should take their leave. They did, but not before Numbers threw a twenty on the table and called his partner a cocky sonofabitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hi there~ It's late and it's come to that point in the very early morning where I will laugh at literally anything!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed. More to come, I promise. (Forgive me if I'm late next week? Pretty please??) I love you, thank you, chu!
> 
> Random Question #2: What song are you listening to? Or what was the last song you listened to?  
> -bows-  
> Good night and stay beautiful!


	3. Passing Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys start out on their first job together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just letting them act like blushing idiots. ;P

It was two weeks before Numbers saw his partner again. He hadn’t been asked to show up to work and he didn’t go out of his way to go over there. In that time though, he had done a lot of thinking and had decided to put his language learning skills to work. What could he say, he was enamored with his goofy looking partner.

He could tell he was rusty. Or maybe it was because he had to use his whole upper half to try and communicate, since he couldn’t get any words or phrases to stick for the first few days. In the end, he was pretty sure it all came down to his binge watching tutorial videos that helped him get as far as he did. He knew having a mentor would help him tremendously, but that would be so embarrassing. Numbers had his pride, after all! He didn’t want to be mocked by his partner if it took him longer than necessary to get something memorized.

Well, Wrench didn’t seem like too bad of a guy, he probably wouldn’t be harsh about it. But god, how embarrassing would it be to ask a legitimate question and have the man do that laugh that really didn't sound like a laugh but _damn_  it was still cute! No, stop! No feelings would be brought into this!

Numbers was getting nowhere with his progress.

 

He got the call for his next job while in the middle of his ASL practice. A practice which had involved him standing in front of a mirror in only his boxers. Hey, home-sweet-motel room didn’t mean he couldn’t be comfortable.

The job would be simple enough. Drive down to Lisbon, bag the guy who had skipped five-too-many payments, and take him for a swim in Lake Oahe. It would be easy-peasy, a piece of cake, no problem-o.

But damn was it annoying as shit.

Mr. Numbers knew exactly what the Syndicate was doing. This fresh meat case was meant to test the waters, make sure he and his partner would work out. With this measly job there was no way to fail, but a part of him wondered what would happen if they did. Something this small wouldn’t warrant a drastic reprimand, he knew that. But what about the future? When he and Wrench had their own routine, what then? One fuck up could lead to both of them going ice fishing. Could he really handle having that on his conscience?

 _Okay, shit, stop!_ Numbers growled to himself as he went around his room in search of proper attire. This was why he didn’t do partners. No feelings, do the job, get paid. That was it. And what was he thinking?! A _future_  with Mr. Wrench? _Nope, no sir. Those thoughts are out!_ He was supposed to be mad at being given such an easy job!

It took ten minutes of manly grooming in front of the bathroom mirror for Numbers to realize just how nervous he really was.

 

The drive to Lisbon was nice enough. Short and quiet, if anything. It wasn’t like they could really strike up a conversation while one of the participants had both hands on the steering wheel. About half way through Numbers broke and started talking. More to himself than anything. He could admit that Wrench was a good conversation partner. It looked like he was listening and he never interrupted.

He talked about nothing in particular at first. The cold weather—how it looked like it might snow later in the week. Before long he started talking about deeper things. “Have you ever wondered what would have happened if you never got into all this?” “Did you believe in that whole Y2K business?” and the like.

Wrench could see that his partner was talking, but something told him Numbers was just venting and not necessarily _to_  him. He had no qualms with this. From a very early age he had been told he was a very good speaking companion, even if he did none of the speaking. The man enjoyed it in all honesty. He felt useful. Needed.

He kept a sigh locked in his chest. These weren’t the best things to be thinking about on the way to a job. Feelings, weaknesses… They did nothing but get you killed in this line of work.

The man thanked his lucky stars that their drive was very near its end. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take with the whole—I want to exchange pleasantries with you but for the sake of both our lives and the company car I can’t— thing.

It was odd that Wrench, a man notorious for sealed lips and whose trademark was using his eyes to tell you everything he needed to say, actually wanted to talk. He had come to the conclusion that it was either a fluke (he was just _really_  pining for a conversation with someone) or it was Numbers (a man who he wanted to both strangle from all of the sass he emitted and take to bed until the sun came up). Either way, his hands were itching to go into action.

Mr. Wrench pulled them into the lot of a dank little motel not too far from their target’s home. He parked but left the engine running.

Numbers gave him a look that shot somewhere between annoyance and curiosity. Turning in his seat, the look definitely leaned more towards aggravation. “Look, Big Boy, I’m not playin’ the blinking game with you. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Wrench quickly reached into the glove box and snatched a legal pad and pen. As he scrawled his short message down he mentally slapped himself for feeling so flustered.

_How do we do this?_

His partner looked at him with eyebrows raised. “Do what?”

_Do we sleep together or separately?_

The face Numbers made could only be described as “oh-shit-did-he-really-just-oh-my-gawd” complete with wide, nearly terrified eyes and a blush spreading like wild fire across his features. “Again, do WHAT?!”

When Mr. Wrench realized he was digging a hole for himself, he couldn’t stop his mouth from dropping. He jotted down a reply as fast as he could which only made things worse because he knew his already horrible handwriting would look worse. He practically threw the notepad onto his partner’s lap so he could hide his reddening face behind his large hands and the steering wheel. Wrench already knew he was six feet under.

Numbers watched Wrench’s fast downward spiral incredulously. So many parts of him had different things to say on the matter, but none of them were his typical flirtatious jokester side. He wanted to laugh (because damn this was kind of funny). He wanted to scream ‘what the hell?!’ And the smallest piece of him wanted to lean forward and press his lips to those big hands.

He did exactly none of those things.

Instead, he looked down at the chicken scratch on the notepad, nearly laughing at how positively _bad_  it was. Then his eyes softened as he decoded the message.

_Im so sorry I didnt mean it like that please dontask for another partner I dont want another one You actually talk to me and youre the only one that will and hell I need you_

Mr. Numbers bit back the smile that had been growing on his lips. This was so sweet he swore he would get cavities. Sweet had no place in this line of work though. Sweet got you killed. It did more than that. And what in the world was he thinking? He felt like one of those idiot princesses who decided to get married just because they had one good (fucking great) night with Prince Charming. This was _not_  Numbers. Numbers didn’t _do_  partners. Well, he would in the biblical sense, but that was beside the point. The cluster fuck that was beginning to unravel now was not going towards a night full of ‘hot fiery passion’. Maybe. Okay, it definitely was, but that was just a stop on the long road heading towards something Numbers knew would end with wreckage, gun smoke, and blood.

He let out a sigh that ended in a groan as he rubbed his leather-clad hands over his face. He wrote down his reply and decided even /that/ sounded too sweet so he added a little something to butch it up a bit.

_It’s OK. Stay here, I’ll go get us a room._

_It’s cheaper that way._

Before he ended up embarrassing himself like his partner did, he let the notepad keep his spot warm and walked in to check-in.

The shaking of the car jolted Wrench out of his nervous state. He looked up to see Numbers heading towards the check-in room with a stride far too long for his legs. A bit a disappointment washed through him. _He’s trying to get away from me…_  he thought.

A blur of yellow to his right took precedent over his negative thoughts. He snatched the legal pad from his partner’s spot and scanned the notes as quickly as he could.

Wrench bit back his own smile as he turned the ignition off and waited patiently for his partner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! <3 Hope you enjoyed! I can't update next week (I'M SO SORRY) because I'm staying with family~
> 
> Random Question #4 (5? I dunno~) What's your favorite 'children's' movie?
> 
> -bows- Stay beautiful!
> 
> P.S. Is there something you really want the boys to do? Let me know and I'll try my best to get it in here somehow!


	4. The Name Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one is without their past.
> 
> In which lots of things happen. Lots of things...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my Chuck, I have no idea how I feel right now. I want to cry, 'cause good night this is a lot of writing in one sitting (*cough* for me *cough*). I want to shout and cheer because look! I did a thing!! Ah, I want is a shower and to watch Star Trek TOS! Which is what I'm gonna do! ENJOY!

Numbers, the lazy bastard wrapped in a go-getter attitude, had the job done a few hours after they checked in.

The moment Wrench threw his bag on his bed Numbers had dragged him right back to the car. His partner explained  _exactly_ what they were going to do to bag the guy, which took a hell of a lot longer than it should have on account of Numbers’ ASL limitations. (Rule #1 of Guns for Hire: Never leave evidence which, in this case, equals no writing on a notepad.) By the end of their long and far too complicated conversation, feathers were ruffled and hands were cramping but at least their plan was hashed out. They’d decided to stake out their man until he left his cozy little house to have an early nightcap at some dead-end bar outside of town. The pair took their seats at a table near the back, ordered their favorite drinks to ease their tension, and waited patiently. Talk between them was slim thanks to their language barrier but lighthearted until about the three hour mark. A line may or may not have been crossed that left Numbers feeling uncomfortable and Wrench wondering what he did wrong. What made it worse was that they hadn’t been able to resolve anything before their target decided he was done for the night. So off they snuck through the back door to meet Mr. Late Payer by his car, argument thrust to the back of their minds.

After that, it was exactly how Numbers had predicted the job would be: easy as hell. Alcohol had made their man sloppy and all it took to knock him out was an elbow to the back of the head. He was stuffed into the back of his own trunk with no amount of grace and Numbers let his partner have the honor of driving the navy Oldsmobile to Lake Oahe while he followed in the company car. Nearly two hours (and enough time to think about what had transgressed to end up miffed again) later, both men were more than ready to do some ice fishing.

Mr. Wrench let the vibrations from the auger turn his body numb and the bite of the late autumn air turn his body cold. He figured it felt better than the awful twisting left in his gut from earlier in the evening.

Mr. Numbers, on the other hand, showed his frustrations about earlier in an entirely different manner. The moment he heard the auger sputter to life he took his chance to let off some steam via physical aggression to their target. He circled the man once before making his first move, like a wolf sizing up his prey. Then, when he had found the most soft, vulnerable spot, he brought back his foot slowly like he was winding back springs and let it go so fast that Mr. Late Payer probably felt like he just got assaulted by a storm of frozen razor blades. He let out a feral growl as he continued to dish out his punishments. He screamed out, each one punctuated with another brutal kick.

“You. Fucking! BASTARD!” He yelled. “You have no right!” Kick. “ _No_ right to ask—” Kick. “Something like—” Kick. “That!” He paused, huffing to catch his breath. He would have begun to wonder when the last time he  _really_ beat the living shit out of someone was (‘cause it had been a while since he was _this_ out of breathe) if he hadn’t remembered  _why_ he was beating the living shit out of said someone. Another low growl left his chapped lips that followed another rib cracking blow.

“You have no idea why I am the way I am. Why I do the things I fucking do!” Kick. “The reasons why I don’t do partners and the reasons why I don’t-. Give-. My fucking-. NAME!” By this point he had given up on kicking and was now straddling the poor man’s waist to connect his pale knuckles to the man’s jaw. Sometime in between dealing his last kick and using his knees to keep the struggling man still, Numbers had stripped off his nice leather gloves and tossed them hither and thither. Rage and hurt changed Numbers. He wanted to _feel_ the man’s jaw break beneath his fingers and _hear_ the satisfying ‘snap’ of his ribs as his boots connected to his sternum.

The cold and battery he was subjecting his hands to was starting to turn them red and sore.  _Fuck it_ , he thought.  _This is better than thinking about that Sasquatch, anyway_. So he continued his beating, secretly wishing that breaking enough bone and shedding enough blood would be enough to start back from the beginning.

A fleeting thought went to wondering which beginning he was thinking of. Numbers had so many. Did he mean from when he had started high school? When he decided he would pursue a Master’s in Linguistics? Or maybe from the very beginning? When he was so young he could hardly read and all he had in the world was his big brother?

Now he felt even worse than before. This is what thinking beyond the job got you. Nothing good.

Numbers was so wrapped up in his own world he hadn’t noticed the missing drone of the auger. So when a gentle hand placed itself on his shoulder, he was shocked back into reality. He could feel large, shivering fingers tracing over the curves of his shoulder blades. On any other occasion, he might have admitted it felt nice, he might have even leaned into the touch just to feel more of his partner. But this was the time they were in and just the thoughts of everything bubbling through his mind made this gentle touch feel like razor blades and lemon juice.

He slapped the hand away, jumping up and away from Wrench. He fixed the man with a glare that was akin to disgust.

“Don’t touch me,” he croaked. His voice hoarser than he would have liked from all of the yelling.

Wrench straightened his posture. He held up his hands in what looked like compliance for a moment then, with his right hand, made a fist to his chest and made tight circles with it.

Mr. Numbers’ eyes lit up with recognition then immediately returned to their defaulted skepticism. “Like hell you are!” he snapped, lunging for Mr. Wrench. They toppled onto the frozen lake and Numbers quickly had his partner pinned underneath him. “You push and you  _push_ —” he screamed as he swung his right fist with as much force as he could muster. Wrench caught it with ease, but Numbers was undeterred. He let his left fist fly with just as much power, but it, too, was caught in Wrench’s strong hands. Struggle as he might, Numbers was getting nowhere in this squabble and that frustrated him even more. He cursed himself silently for all the emotion he let loose in his features, cursed himself out loud for the rage, grief, and hurt welling in his eyes. “Why couldn’t you just take ‘no’ for an answer?!”

Wrench watched his partner’s collapse into oblivion with wide eyes. He realized now that he had been in the wrong, had asked questions that were out of line. He had thought that they were going to instantly ‘click’ and they’d be able to talk about anything. God knew that Wrench had already decided to trust this mad man above him ‘til the very end. He had never stopped to think that his partner wouldn’t be the same way. Granted, there were things he wouldn’t tell Numbers any time in the foreseeable future, but names he had thought to be a trivial thing.

He moved so that both of Numbers’ wrists were held tight by his left hand and with even tighter, surer circles over his chest, he signed again. He could feel heat creeping up his neck to colour his cheeks, but he refused to break eye contact with his partner.

While looking at Wrench come to conclusions and decisions in his mind, Numbers had calmed down significantly. He let his partner move and take hold of his wrists and watched as the same sign as before was made. It had been one of the first signs Numbers was able to commit to memory, and if the look Wrench was giving him was anything to go by, what was being said was the honest-to-god’s truth.

_I’m sorry…_

Mr. Numbers let out a long, shaky sigh. He and his partner still hadn’t broken eye contact but neither seemed to mind. When Wrench released his wrists, he rubbed the burn away for a moment, savoring the slight tingle it left behind. He stood, holding out a hand for his partner to take once he had his ice legs back.

“Help me with this guy, would you?”

* * *

 

Well, the whole emotional bit aside, the job really had been easy hell.

It hadn’t taken long for Numbers to calm down after his outburst. Once he was off of Wrench’s lap, he acted like a civil, human being. On his feet and back to work, they assisted Mr. Late Payer in his swimming lesson and started on the really fun part: destroying any and all evidence. They took their target’s fine specimen of an Oldsmobile to a remote-looking part of the forest surrounding Lake Oahe and had their way with her. Wrench was actually pretty sad about seeing her go, she’d had the comfiest seats known to man and that was something one could appreciate on long car rides for jobs.

Numbers would have laughed at his partner’s hesitance if he still wasn’t licking his wounds. He did, however, let the beginnings of a smirk tug at the sides of his mouth. That was enough for now.

 

The car ride back to the motel passed in silence. It was mostly calm, somewhat companionable even, save for the knowledge of the inevitable charging the air. They knew it was only a matter of time before one of them brought up what had happened on the ice, what had happened before that…

Numbers had opened his mouth a few times, nearly taking the coward’s way out and using Wrench’s hearing against him.  _You’re already a bastard, Numbers, don’t turn into an asshole too…_ He stopped himself each time though, forcing his mouth shut before he either said something stupid to open air or said something he knew he wouldn’t be able to say again, even if Wrench needed to “hear” it. And so the drive staid like that, awkward tension wafting in the air between them but not enough to drive them mad.

Maybe that wasn’t so true.

The moment the ignition was switched off, Wrench ripped the key from its sheath and hightailed it back to their room, leaving a shocked Numbers to wonder what just took place in the car.

After fumbling to get the door open, he slammed it shut. Practically throwing himself on his bed, he finally let out the sigh he had been holding onto since the early morning drive. He couldn’t hear it, but the pull and slack of his chest left him a bit more satisfied than he had been.

Mr. Wrench couldn’t separate one feeling from the next. He felt anxious, angry, confused, and a many other things that just made him feel overwhelmed in the end. He didn’t like this. And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t like who  _he_ was. How he had been  _born_. The familiar bubbles of rage in his gut grew stronger the longer he kept his thoughts on his damned ears. He wanted nothing more than to have a conversation with his partner. A  _real_ conversation. Not one that left them even more confused than when they started. He wanted to fucking  _hear_ his partner. He’d give everything just to be able to hear that laugh at the diner, those stupid nicknames. He’d even give it all away to hear Numbers yell at him, scream at him in that broken voice he knew he’d used on the lake.

A tap to the foot shocked him out of his trip to the abyss. He turned slowly, swiping at his eyes to be rid of thin tears. Confusion, and embarrassment, quickly thread into his expression when he saw his partner in baggy, black plaid flannels and a white tank top. Water beaded from the tips of Numbers’ hair, even his beard was damp. Had he really been lost in his thoughts for that long?

He sat up and was almost finished crossing his legs when Numbers did one of the most beautiful things Wrench thought he could possibly do.

Numbers had signed.

It had been a bit crude, his hands shaking and hesitant, but he had gotten his point across.

 _That’s bad_.

Wrench sat up straight, a smile (only wavering because of the wells of tears threatening to fall) was plastered on his face.

_What is?_

_Your coffee—_ Wrench noticed the blush on his partner’s cheek burn brighter. _No, your shoes. They make the bed dirty._

He nodded, standing slowly. He toed off his shoes with as much grace as Bambi on ice, letting them land haphazardly on the floor. All the while keeping his gaze on Numbers, who watched him cautiously but with a faint grin playing on his lips. He walked forward and took Numbers’ trembling hands in his left one. Mr. Wrench looked down, taking in, no, more like relishing in the feel of Numbers’ hands in his. His thumbs traced lazy circles over his partner’s knuckles, feeling the shivers that accompanied each one, relishing in those too. With his right hand, he lifted Numbers’ chin up, making sure he could see into those dark eyes. He searched them for a minute, then two, maybe longer before he found what he was looking for: trust, kindness, consent.

Then he leaned forward. And that was it, their first kiss. It had been chaste, gentle, but there was no denying the warmth that rushed down his spine when his lips pressed to Numbers’ soft, slightly chapped ones. When he pulled back, the blush that had been blazing on his partner’s face showed no signs of dying out and the smile on his own face he swore couldn’t get bigger. He brought his right hand up, pressing the tips of his fingers to his mouth then gestured like he had just blown a kiss to Numbers and if a tear or two fell, he wouldn’t blame himself this one time.

_Thank you._

His partner looked like a small weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He looked happy, genuinely so. Tired but happy eyes looked up at Wrench and after he took one of his hands away, Numbers made a few more signs. These were surer, and no less sincere in their movements.

“ _Any time_ ,” he repeated aloud. Now it was Numbers’ turn to lean forward and take claim of his partner’s lips. When he pulled back, Numbers tried his best to keep the worries and fears brewing in his chest at bay. Some, he knew, would have to be addressed soon, now really, and that only added to his anxieties.

Wrench must have sensed it, because he traced his thumb over the hills of knuckles that he still held in his hand.

Numbers sighed. It was time to talk about what happened that day. Most of it anyway. The important parts. The relevant parts. They needed to talk, and after gesturing for Wrench to sit down, Numbers mirroring him on his own bed, he wrote as much on the legal pad he had snatched from the car’s glove box.

___I think we should talk about what happened earlier._

He saw his partner nearly swallow his own tongue, saw the cold chill that slithered through his spine. Numbers wasn’t sure what to make of that really, but he took that Wrench was willing to reply as a good sign. He handed over the pad and waited. He couldn’t help the chuckle his partner brought out of him, finding it endearing that Mr. Wrench was trying to make sure he wrote slowly, legibly.

 _I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have pushed as much as I did_.

A part of Numbers felt like a terrible person for the ‘kicked puppy’ look he was getting from Wrench.

_Nah, I’ve got a short temper. You saw me on the ice._

Wrench looked up at his partner, then down at the notepad, then up again before he showed what he had written to Numbers.

 _I thought it was kind of sexy, actually. A bit scary, but still sexy_.

Numbers couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped.

_Does this mean you’ll tell me your name, Numbers?_

Numbers stopped himself from wincing away from his partner. He knew Wrench meant nothing by it. To him it was just a name, but to Numbers it was one of the last things that connected him to his past. A part of him wasn’t sure why he was so reluctant to share with his partner. Was it because the past just hurt too much to remember? Or was it that he felt like giving something so personal out could be a sign of weakness? Something that would come back to bite him in the ass. He looked away, folding his arms over his chest.

A soft sigh and even softer scribbling brought him back from behind his barriers.

Wrench was looking away now, holding up the legal pad with a new message.

 _Never mind. Forget I asked_.

Numbers rubbed his hands over his face, aggravated beyond belief.  _This_. This is why he didn’t do partners. They pry. And they pry and they pry until they know every little thing about you and then you’re just plain fucked. Because one day, they use what they know against you and you end up lying on the floor of a garage bleeding out from a gunshot wound.

A growl rumbled deep in his throat before a hissed, “Dammit!” echoed off the motel walls. He wanted to hit something, more accurately he wanted to hit the big ass sonofabitch sitting right in front of him, but he knew how that would turn out. And frankly, he’d like to keep all of his teeth, thank you.

Snatching the yellow, lined stack of paper, he jotted down a reply.

 _I want to tell you, sort of, but I can’t. I just can’t. It’s not something I do_.

He was trying. Hell, the man upstairs knew he was trying. But to just go against nearly a decade of instinctual self-preservation wasn’t something anyone could just  _do_.

If the snort from the man in front of him was anything to go by, he thought it was complete bullshit.

Which just made Numbers that much more frustrated. Slamming his fists on the mattress, he nearly roared, “Come  _on_. What do you want from me, huh?!” He was up on his feet now, pacing at the foot of the beds, quivering hands anywhere but at his sides. “What do you want me to say?! Oh hello! My name’s Russell! OH! Well, Russell, why don’t you just  _tell_ me when your birthday is? Or how about that past of yours, huh? That brother of yours, I bet he was your best friend, right? Tell me about  _him_! And then the next thing you know—” A bang on the wall interrupted his tirade, followed by a ‘keep it down!’ from their neighbors. “OH SHUT THE FUCK UP! I’M ALMOST DONE! I HEARD YOU IN THE FUCKING SHOWER EARLIER, WHY DON’T YOU KEEP  _THAT_ DOWN, HUH?!?” His voice was cracking by the end, and when he turned his attention back to Mr. Wrench tears he wished were just perspiration in a very coincidental place were streaming down his face. “And then the next thing you know,” he nearly whispered, “they can use anything you say against you.”

Wrench looked up, his eyes filled with genuine worry, grief, and concern. They really hadn’t known each other for long, but despite that and despite the episodes Numbers was having, he wanted to know everything about him. They were partners. And in this business, partners were everything. They needed that friendship, that trust that could potentially save their lives. For Wrench, he felt they could be more than business partners. He  _knew_ they could be, already were in a way, but that required even more trust. He didn’t want to know everything now. Just the basics, something to let him know that Numbers wanted this partnership just as much as he did.

 _Don’t you trust me_ , he wrote.

Numbers felt his heart sink at the question. The hurt and uncertainty in Wrench’s eyes was tearing him apart from the inside out. He sank down onto the foot of his bed, holding his face in his hands. He looked to his left, and with a shaky voice he said, “Of course I do…” When Wrench made to write on the pad again, Numbers interrupted him. “But you don’t understand! I trust you, I trust you with my _life_. You’re capable, the most I’ve seen in a hell of a long time. But fuck, look at me, Wrench. I’m a mess!” He was up and pacing again, less frustration this go around, but there was still some all the same. “I’m so,  _so_ messed up, Wrench. You don’t need to get any more involved with me than you already are!” He gave a laugh of disbelief. “Could you even imagine what—?”

“My name is Heath.”

Numbers forced his mind and his body to do a double take. He couldn’t believe what he had just heard. That such a sultry, pure voice could come from his partner. And that his partner _trusted_ him enough to use that beautiful voice just for him… Well, now he definitely couldn’t stop the tears running down his cheeks.

He returned to his seat on his bed, wiping his eyes more than he really needed to, stalling. He looked up, trying his best as he gave a nervous, lop-sided smile.

_A-D-A-M._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so so so much for reading! I hope I did well. 
> 
> Tell me how I'm doing! comments, questions, concerns~ That whole jazz. :) 
> 
> Now, I'll try my hardest to get another chapter up next week, but no promises... It might be a while before I get anything up for this. I've been a bad gentlelady and have neglected some of my other stories, so I'd like to work on them if I can. Not to worry though! There is an end game for this story in mind (though not quite in sight any time soon) and I have other little things I'm planning on doing with my boys!
> 
> Until next time, stay beautiful!
> 
> *ALSO* For the first person to figure out where the name 'Russell' came from, I'll do something for you! (Head-cannons, something added into the storyline, a Time Stamp, that sort of deal!) Up to you! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! The next chapter will be longer, I promise!  
> I love these boys to an almost unhealthy degree, I tell you!
> 
> Random Question#1: What's your favorite fruit? If you're allergic, what's your favorite veggie? If you're allergic to both... I'm so sorry... Do you like tofu?
> 
> -bows- Stay beautiful!


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